


Emotional Illidari

by doitsuki



Series: The Illidad Chronicles [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon Hunters, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Multi, Repressed Memories, Unresolved Emotional Tension, [Consume Magic], illidad, illidari - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:39:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsuki/pseuds/doitsuki
Summary: Illidan is troubled more often than not, and struggles to ignore the memories he's held close to his heart for ten thousand years. Now, the threat of the Burning Legion looms over Outland once more.  Many will die. When will it end? With death comes life, and Illidan's many demon hunters are lively enough to support their Master even when he feels dead inside. Let's see.





	

It was two hours before sunrise when Illidan Stormrage, Lord of Outland and Betrayer of the Burning Legion, found himself alone. In one of the Black Temple’s many training rooms he stood, wings flexing slowly with each breath. His entire body was tense with fingers clawed and arms halfway to a combat stance, back straight and teeth clenched.

 _‘Why are you like this?’_ he asked himself, trying to foster a conversation of sorts to distract him from the _other_ thoughts. But they were insistent images and sounds and feelings rather than the simulated companion he wished for, and they came. He had dealt with these for ten thousand years, and had hoped past events had solved the whole mess. But time had only irritated this particular wound, stirred it until it rattled his bones and the familiar gush of obsessive thought flooded Illidan’s entire being. This wound was named Tyrande, and Illidan knew what happened when he let himself think of her. He scowled. None of his sorcery had allowed him to forget. Nor had parting ways with Malfurion and Tyrande on good terms. _‘Good for them,’_ he thought. ‘ _Not me.’_ They were happy, knowing nothing of how he suffered. An ache in his chest existed and though he had grown accustomed to it, he did not appreciate its presence. It did things to him, such as make him stand in a dark, empty room and tremble all over, lost in his mind. Tiny, repressed thoughts circled and shrieked at him even as he worked to push them away. He was terribly aware of them all, the curse of his brilliant and attentive mind.

 _‘Cast something.’_ he told himself, but even as he willed himself to draw Fel energies together, he heard _I want you, I miss you, I need you, why can’t you be mine,_ amongst the incantation he tried to remember. Illidan clutched his face in one hand, pointed nails digging into his scalp. The back of his neck hurt, and his head felt heavy enough for him to pitch forward and collapse. Yet he remained standing, stiff and pained. Physical discomfort was a constant companion to most in the Black Temple, be it the exhaustion of sparring to the point of near death or the acute slice of blades into flesh. Illidan at this hour was simply tired, but he did not want to sleep. Nightmares plagued him as if he had wronged Ysera herself and had brought the wrath of a thousand green dragons upon his head. But his dreams were not of demons and bloodshed and felfire. They were out of his realm of control, and he hated them for that. When he dreamt, he was aware of his mind trusting whatever imaginative situation he found himself in. Malfurion would approach him with words of forgiveness and the kindest look upon his face and Illidan would _believe_ him, giving in to the exultant joy of being accepted once again. Of having things made right. Sometimes Tyrande would be there too, and she would embrace him, a hand through his hair, another around his waist, and her whispered words of love would make him wish to never wake. And then she would tell him:

“ _If only you had not betrayed us.”_

Malfurion would laugh and the trust Illidan’s dreaming self placed in the situation would shatter, his heart would twist, and he would not be allowed to wake until the dream had run its course. The dreams varied, often filling Illidan with the hope only a dreamer could believe – the real, woke Illidan had long since lost his faith in such things. Malfurion would never accept him. Tyrande would never love him. Nobody would ever recognize his achievements and successes… unless they were in his service, and at that point they basically had nothing else to do with their lives other than to believe in him. Illidan thought about his demon hunters, his children, all the little elves who looked up to him with their unique, eyeless faces. They did have eyelids, though, something Illidan did not. But he didn’t care. No lids, no brows, whatever. His appearance mattered only when it could intimidate his foes into shitting their entire digestive systems out.

An unusual tingle of energy pulsed through Illidan’s body. He snapped out of his thoughts, aware that it was not his own doing. Someone had counterspelled him, scattering his concentration. Who dared-!

He turned his face whilst sensing with spectral sight to perceive a small, female night elven demon hunter. Her tattoos were a subdued forest-green, a sign that her energy was mostly depleted for the day. She looked up at him, feeling her Master’s attention solely focussed on her – an overwhelming and frightening experience. But Kor’vas was not afraid. Her dark lips parted to show many pointy little teeth. Then she reconsidered what she was going to say.

Illidan relaxed his arms and hands just enough to put Kor’vas at ease. He was not going to attack her, and her interrupt spell had only hit him in the thigh, barely enough to take a drop of his vast magical energy. A few brave demon hunters did this to gather their Lord’s attention, though if they ever interrupted his long, elaborate castings, they were sure to receive a smack in the head. Illidan didn’t usually guard himself against his children’s magical attacks, confident and trusting them along with his own situational awareness.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice like a stone pushing through thick, wet sand. It stuck in his throat, rolled in a firm, gritty manner. Kor’vas, unarmed and with her midnight blue hair unbound, bounced nervously on the balls of her feet. Her hair fluttered around before settling halfway down her back.

“What are you doing in here…?” She tore her attention away from Illidan and roamed the room with her senses, head following as if she had a field of vision in front of her. She, like Illidan, could see the energy of things behind her, through walls, in boxes, even. The room was still and the metallic, acrid scent of old blood could be noted with enough deep breaths. Illidan crouched, still nearly twice as tall as Kor’vas with his impressive wings settling behind him.

“Thinking.”

“You look sad.” Kor’vas noted, honesty and compassion softening her voice. While she was one of the most excitable Illidari when out in the field killing things, in the presence of her Master she was subdued. The fel infused muscles of Illidan’s face could be seen contracting into a rather depressed look. Illidan was too tired to hide from this perceptive elf.

“It does not matter.” said Illidan, turning his face away as if he could hide from Kor’vas’s spectral gaze. “Have you come for training or advice, little one?”

Kor’vas pursed her lips and tugged at Illidan’s breeches, the only real bit of clothing he wore. “It does matter! Master, what’s wrong? Why are you like this?”

Illidan’s head snapped right back to face Kor’vas and his forehead had wrinkled with a sharp frown. “You think I can stop this?” he spat, before reigning his tongue by biting on it. He growled. Ten thousand years and he was still as impulsive as the day he’d been born. Only this was an opportunity he’d barely considered, and saw that he had frightened Kor’vas. He shook his head, reaching out to pat her on the head, just between her two small, triangular horns. She was short enough that he had to bend a little, and instead of squatting further he simply sat on the ground, legs crossed. Kor’vas squinted a bit, the green slits of light showing through her blindfold becoming thin lines.

“Forgive me.” said Illidan. “My thoughts are… scattered. No thanks to that counterspell of yours.” There was no blame or anger in his voice, just weariness. Kor’vas crawled over his right thigh and sat there, looking up at him defiantly.

“I said hi, and you didn’t notice…”

Illidan dipped his head, curved horns casting shadows over his legs. “I was deep in thought. But no longer.” He supported Kor’vas’s back with a hand that spanned wider than her waist. She leaned into his touch, grabbing hold of his thumb.

“Something upset you.” said Kor’vas. Then she stiffened. “Was it a demon? I-”

“No, no. You don’t need to kill anything for my sake.” Illidan moved his thumb a bit nudged Kor’vas’s side. “I… was just thinking about the past.”

“Oh.” Kor’vas squirmed just a tad, for Illidan’s hand was quite warm and a bit distracting. She aligned her face with his, looking as if into the pools of fire he had for eyes. “You… miss someone, don’t you?”

Illidan stiffened. “How do you know that?” he hissed, temporarily unguarded. Kor’vas shrugged.

“I do too.”

Of course she did, being a victim of the Burning Legion’s genocidal crusade. All the Illidari had lost friends, families and homes. Yet Illidan mourned for one who still lived. Self-pity was unbecoming of the Lord of Outland, yet if he did not feel sorry for himself, he was sure nobody would. Though, it seemed Kor’vas was concerned… just a little. Illidan scooped her into his arms and let her sit where his elbow bent and his bicep provided a nice cushion. He could sense her more clearly now that her face was this close to his. He reached… and understood her to be worried.

“I miss Tyrande.” he said abruptly. Then he winced, and Kor’vas raised her brows. She was sensing him too, and had to withdraw from how powerful Illidan’s emotions had become. They were as volatile as the elements themselves, as turbulent as raw Arcana. Kor’vas pressed her face into his neck, her horns only scratching him lightly. For a moment they were both silent, Kor’vas nuzzling Illidan like a nightsaber kitten. Then, she spoke.

“Why?”

Illidan covered Kor’vas with his left hand as if to shield her from the sorrow in the air. He thought long and hard before he could admit that he wanted Tyrande to love him. At this point, he didn’t even mind sharing her with Malfurion. And as Kor’vas listened, she understood something.

“You… want to be loved, don’t you?”

Illidan had not heard anyone speak such raw truth in a very long time and cringed, folding into himself and taking Kor’vas with him. But still he held her close to his chest and she was safe. Kor’vas could hear a low, strangled sound like the creaking of a vine-wrapped branch about to snap inside his chest. Alarmed, she went to say something but Illidan spoke instead.

“You cannot blame me for that.”

“I… I don’t…!” Kor’vas could sense Illidan’s expression contorting into one of pure, heartfelt pain. “Master, we love you!”

“You _serve_ me.” Illidan said before he could even think about the most appropriate or intelligent thing. He winced again. _‘Why do I keep saying these things?’_ “I-”

“ _And_ we love you! You’ve given us a chance at vengeance that no-one else could. You’ve taught us more than anyone would dare.”

“All things I have done.” Illidan muttered, still hunched over in a ball with Kor’vas stuck to him like a Felhound’s tentacle. “Had I not, none of you would even see me as a sentient being.”

“Eeh? But you _have_ , and we are grateful! We..” Kor’vas paused before continuing, cautious. “We don’t just care about killing demons, Master. We want to make you proud. You believe in us when we forget ourselves. And we always say, _Lord Illidan knows the way_. We believe in you too.”

Illidan slowly uncoiled his body, supporting his back with the tips of his wings angled against the ground.

“You speak for those who are not present.”

“What do you mean?” someone shouted from behind Illidan, sounding quite appalled. Illidan turned to notice many, many Illidari gathered with only a simple warding spell to keep them from his sight. Had he been paying attention, he would have sensed them despite the ward. But they were all in the doorway and now filtered into the room, lead by Kayn Sunfury, the Captain of the lot. He had grown into a fine demon hunter since being trained by Illidan’s own hand, from adolescence into early adulthood and beyond. The fact that he jumped forwards thrice whilst opening his wings was testament to his youth and eagerness. He reached Illidan in a few leaps and stood with arms folded. “We’re right here!”

The other Illidari made various noises of agreement and clustered around Illidan, looking up at him and Kor’vas, who gestured.

“See? We love you, Master. You don’t need a Tyrande for that.”

“But-”

“If you want a kiss, you can just ask me!” said Kayn, jumping up and down on the spot. “Yeah? It’s fine, really!”

Illidan stared at him, and then against his own will, grinned.

“And what of your own agenda, hm? You do not fear that I will bite your face off?”

“Nooooo…” Kayn clambered up to join Kor’vas where she sat and put his hands on Illidan’s cheeks. “You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know… if I hungered enough, perhaps…” Illidan suddenly snapped his teeth and Kayn flinched, before dissolving into a pile of giggles with Kor’vas. Now the other demon hunters were scaling Illidan like a felbat up Mount Hyjal, and Illidan put a bit more pressure on his wings as he leaned back. Now covered in his faithful, strong children, Illidan lay down and spread both arms and wings to accept them all. Kayn had already stolen a sneaky nibble at him and a couple others were settling in. It seemed they intended to accompany him throughout the day, when many slept so as to avoid the harsh temperatures outside. The sun had already risen, something Illidan could sense if he tried. And he _was_ feeling quite fatigued…

“I assume you all wish to use me as a bed, then?”

“I-if you don’t mind!” said a demon hunter, one who had just been licking Illidan’s chest.

“Mh. Well, I can hardly displace you all now, can I?” Illidan had a blanket made entirely of elves and once they stopped moving and tickling him, he was quite comfortable. “Come, then. Rest.”

“You too!” said Kor’vas, and hugged Illidan around the neck. He was muscular enough to not end up strangled, and Kor’vas had no intention to choke him, anyway. She was gentle as was Kayn who had been exercising all day and was ready for a long nap. All the Illidari snuggled up close and were calm.

Illidan sent a quiet message into all of their minds, not a summon, not a warning, but important nonetheless.

“ _I am grateful.”_

**Author's Note:**

> this might be the last segment of the Illidad Chronicles idk i'm all out of plot ideas


End file.
